


Rivers in the Desert

by ValueVices



Series: Signs of Love [6]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon to any route except crimson flower, Cuddling & Snuggling, During their paired ending, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Kissing, M/M, Post-War, also just an old married couple, caspar has never thought ahead in his life, desert adventure!, heatstroke, linhardt is a die hard pessimist, stay hydrated kids, the adventure continues, the sappiest couple, they're literally married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:34:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21632224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValueVices/pseuds/ValueVices
Summary: On one of their many adventures after the war, Linhardt and Caspar travel to the desert of Morfis...but it wouldn't be a proper adventure if Caspar didn't nearly get them both killed for a totally preventable reason.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez & Linhardt von Hevring, Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring
Series: Signs of Love [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1512377
Comments: 31
Kudos: 121





	Rivers in the Desert

The problem was with reading things in books, Linhardt reflected, was that some things could only be known through experience. And as it turned out, the heat of the Morfis desert was one of those things.

He’d come prepared. Hooded cloak for the afternoon sun, thick clothes for the freezing nights. Ointment for sunburns, two weeks’ rations for a ten day trip, and plenty of water. For each of them. Of course, he’d had to sneak the warm clothes into Caspar’s bag, because he refused to take Linhardt’s word that the desert got _cold_ at night.

“It’s a desert!” he’d said, arms crossed, annoyingly stubborn scowl in place. “It’s warm! That’s like, its whole deal!”

Now here they were, several days into their trek, and Linhardt considered this fact to be thoroughly verified. It was hot. Hotter than he thought it was possible to be, outside of an active volcano. But this was somehow worse. 

The desert was vast. As far as the eye could see, there was only sand, slippery underfoot and painfully bright to look at. The sun beat down from overhead, impossible to escape or to ignore. And Caspar. Wouldn’t. Stop. Complaining. 

“How...how far is it again?” he said, plodding along behind Linhardt. “I don’t think I can survive another day of this.”

“We won’t reach the ruins for another day and a half,” said Linhardt through gritted teeth, deeply regretting his decision to make a detour on their way to the magical metropolis situated in the middle of the desert. It had seemed like a good idea when he’d read about it in a book—strange ruins from an unidentified civilization, perhaps tied to the Agarthans? He simply had to investigate. 

Or at least, it had seemed simple until they’d left the well-traveled road through the desert and ventured into the open sand. It wasn’t as difficult to traverse for Linhardt as it was for Caspar, it being second nature by now for Linhardt to lighten his steps with magic. So Linhardt supposed he ought to be grateful that Caspar had been willing to follow him on this particular adventure. It was just _very_ difficult to remember when he was being so annoying.

Sure enough, Caspar groaned. “A day and a half? I’m gonna melt before then.” 

Linhardt wasn’t even turning to look at him as they spoke anymore. “It will be night before long, so you won’t have to worry about that much longer.”

“Ugh...the cold is just as bad. How come people decided to live out here? Are they crazy?”

“I’m sure they’d be happy to tell you once we get there,” said Linhardt irritably. 

And so it went.

The night was frigid when it came, the blazing sun replaced by the pale light of the Pegasus Moon, full and resplendent. Under its light the sand turned from gold to silver, alchemy in its natural form, as the sky stretched above, vast and impossibly full of stars. Caspar laid on his back on a blanket, hands linked behind his head as he looked up at the sky, and Linhardt sat next to him, watching the expression of awe on his face.  
At times like this, it all almost seemed worth it.

They rose early the next day to make some headway before the sun returned to scorch the earth again, and them along with it. It was pleasant, at least comparatively; they fell into their usual casual chatter as they walked, the light of dawn slowly filtering into the sky. 

“So this magic city...what’s it called again?” said Caspar, walking alongside Linhardt, for the time being.

“It’s called Morfis.”

Caspar squinted in confusion. “Wait, I thought that was the name of the country.”

“Well, yes,” said Linhardt. “It’s true that the people of Fodlan call both the country and the city ‘Morfis’...although it seems their own name for the country is ‘Somnia’.”

“Huh,” said Caspar. “You would think it wouldn’t be so hard to get that mixed up.”

“The people of Fodlan aren’t historically known for their interest in other countries,” said Linhardt dryly, “Past the ones that muster armies at its borders.”

“Yeah...when I was a kid, I thought it was something out of a fairytale. A city of magic, in the middle of a desert...I just couldn’t picture it.” Caspar paused for a moment, thinking. “Ahh, I _still_ can’t picture it. What d’you think it’s gonna be like, Lin?”

“I’m not sure. Most of the accounts I found of travelers were sparse on details, and the ones that weren’t, I suspect were greatly embellished.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Caspar. “I mean, what do you imagine it’s gonna be like?”

Linhardt considered for a moment, but he had never been much for empty conjecture. “Hopefully they’ll have magic that controls the temperature,” he said. “And soft beds.”

“They had better,” agreed Caspar, then glanced up at the sun, which was creeping over the horizon. “Would it kill it to be cloudy out here for once?”

“Clouds require moisture to form,” said Linhardt. “Unlikely, in the desert.”

Caspar gave a long sigh, then took a swig from his waterskin. “Yeah, thought so.”

It took a regrettably short time for the sun to climb into the sky again, bringing the temperature with it. It wasn’t even noon yet before Linhardt had to call for a rest, because even with his cloak blocking the sun’s rays the heat was making him so sleepy he couldn’t be sure he was keeping them on the right track.

“I just wish there were _something_ here other than sand,” said Caspar, attempting to jam their walking sticks into the sand to form a makeshift lean-to. “Like some trees, or, uh...anything.”

“Mm,” said Linhardt, watching him through half-closed eyes as he sat in the sand.

“I mean, aren’t deserts supposed to have oasises? The ones at home do.” Caspar stepped back to admire his handiwork: an uneven, sagging shelter, standing sad and solitary in the surrounding sand. “Well...it doesn’t look good, but it’s got shade, right?” said Caspar, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

“It will do,” said Linhardt, crawling inside. As soon as he was out of the direct path of the sun’s rays, the temperature seemed to drop measurably, and he sighed in relief. Then he fell asleep.

It was worse when he woke up, unfortunately. The air was so hot that Linhardt felt like he was suffocating just breathing it in. Caspar was sitting nearby, looking out at the shimmering heat of the sun with a forlorn expression. “Perhaps...” muttered Linhardt, sitting up slowly and rubbing his eyes, “We could wait until it’s cooler, and travel by night.”

Caspar looked over at him, startled, then nodded. “Yeah...maybe that’s a good idea...”

Linhardt frowned, looking at him more closely. He looked troubled. “Did you see something out there?”

“Huh? No,” said Caspar, “Just...same old desert.”

“Hm,” said Linhardt. “Could you hand me my water? I’m parched.”

“Sure,” said Caspar, picking Linhardt’s waterskin out of their belongings and tossing it to him. 

“Thank you,” said Linhardt, taking a sip. It was tepid and had a metallic tang to it, but it was still the most refreshing thing he’d ever tasted. It was difficult to resist drinking more, but every drop was precious, out here.

“Hey, Linhardt,” said Caspar, “How long did you say until we get to the city again?”

Linhardt sighed. “How many times must I go over this?” 

Caspar smiled sheepishly. Linhardt never could say no to that face, regrettably. If he could it would have saved him a lot of trouble in the past, and undoubtedly it would in the future, as well.

“Very well,” he said, shaking his head as he reached for his bag. “Here, look.” Caspar scooted closer as Linhardt pulled out a book, one of the limited few he’d selected to pack, and opened it to a certain page: a map of Somnia, produced by a traveler in the distant past. “We’re roughly here,” said Linhardt, pointing out a spot some distance away from the main road. “We’re on our way to _here_ ,” he continued, tracing a line towards the scribbled blocks that signified the ruins, “And after that we’ll be heading back to the town we stopped at on the main road before making our way to the city itself.” 

Caspar stared at the map, expression somber, but when he looked up he was smiling ruefully. “Guess it’ll be a couple days before we make it back to civilization then, huh?”

“Indeed,” said Linhardt, yawning. He was still tired...and it was so hot. Waiting until the sun passed its zenith to keep traveling was seeming like a better and better idea. And whatever was bothering Caspar, he would doubtlessly spill it at some point or another later. “A bath...would be wonderful around now...”

“Yeah,” said Caspar. “So, are we gonna keep going when it’s cooler?”

“That seems prudent,” murmured Linhardt, lying down again, “Now if you’ll excuse me...” He closed his eyes.

By the time he’d woken up again and they’d packed up their things, the sun was beginning to dip in the sky, and it was still terribly hot, but not unbearably so. 

They were getting so close to the ruins. It was less than a full day’s travel from here, and as they drew nearer, Linhardt was getting more and more curious about what they might find there. Could the ruins possibly be related to the Agarthans? Or were they from a time even before then? He hadn’t been able to find many details about them, but in this climate, perhaps the ruins would be well-preserved enough to give him some clues as to what kind of civilization it was.

He was so absorbed in his thinking that he didn’t notice that the sun had gone down until Caspar said, “Getting kinda cold.”

Linhardt frowned. Caspar’s voice didn’t sound right. It was oddly...raspy. And Linhardt suddenly realized something strange: he couldn’t remember Caspar complaining once since they started walking again. He turned to face his companion. Caspar looked unwell. His head was lowered, shoulders drooping, and he swayed slightly where he stood. “Caspar,” said Linhardt sharply, “What’s the matter with you?”

Caspar lifted his head. His eyes were slightly unfocused. “What? N...nothing. I’m fine. Just...a little tired. Hey...it’s getting kinda cold.”

“You already said that,” said Linhardt, mind already running through the possibilities. Had Caspar been stung by some poisonous desert creature? No, no. Heatstroke? More likely. “Sit down,” he said to Caspar.

“Okay,” he said, before his legs gave out under him. 

Linhardt cursed his inattention. Caspar must have been like this for some time, though of course the fool would fail to mention it. He hurried over to kneel beside Caspar—he’d actually passed out completely, by the looks of it—and performed a quick examination. Caspar was unusually pale, his skin hot to touch, heartbeat rapid and irregular. His breathing was shallow, and his lips were cracked and dry. Linhardt was profoundly grateful the sun had set so that the extreme heat would no longer exacerbate Caspar’s condition, but to think he’d gone this far without saying anything...

Well, that was hardly surprising, considering it was him. “Really, Caspar,” Linhardt muttered, reaching for Caspar’s waterskin. The first thing to do would be to get him hydrated. “You think you would learn to—“ 

The waterskin was empty.

Linhardt felt a chill. He checked again, shaking it next to his ear to see if he could hear anything sloshing around inside, but—nothing. “ _Damn_ it,” hissed Linhardt under his breath. Of all the stupid things... He sighed, reaching for his own waterskin. It couldn’t be helped.

After he’d managed to get some water into Caspar—he dearly wished he could spare more, but as things were, it would have to do—Linhardt set up their little camp. It was a delicate matter now of ensuring that Caspar cooled down, but not allowing him to get too cold and start shivering. Linhardt stayed awake to keep watch over him, using magic to make himself a reading light. From time to time he laid a hand on Caspar’s forehead to check if his temperature had gone down, and dribbled water down his throat in small amounts. He kept Caspar’s head pillowed in his lap for ease of access, watching as his breathing slowly evened out.

Finally, several hours later, Caspar’s eyes fluttered open. “Wh...Lin?” he said muzzily, blinking up at Linhardt. 

“So you’ve finally decided to join me again,” said Linhardt, not allowing the relief to seep into his voice.

“What happened?” said Caspar, voice still weak.

Linhardt frowned. “I was hoping you could tell me that. When, exactly, did you plan on telling me you had run out of water?”

Caspar frowned slightly in confusion before understanding dawned. “Oh,” he said.

“’Oh’, indeed,” said Linhardt. 

“I didn’t mean to drink it all, honest,” said Caspar, the very picture of misery. No one wore guilt quite like Caspar, Linhardt thought. His eyes went huge, a tiny furrow appearing in his forehead, and he always got the most adorable pouty little frown. All in all, he looked like a kicked puppy. “I was just thirsty, so I kept drinking without thinking about it...and then there wasn’t any left.”

Linhardt wished in times like these that he could be harder on Caspar, so that one day he might learn a lesson of some sort. But once again, it seemed that that would take more effort than Linhardt was willing or capable of producing. It was just so _unproductive_ , to be angry. “That was supposed to last until we got back to town, Caspar. You realize it hasn’t even been three days.”

“I know...” said Caspar. “I’m sorry, Lin.”

Linhardt shook his head. He’d been thinking, while Caspar had been unconscious. Poring over options. 

They had enough water between them now for one person to make it back to town. Linhardt could probably get away with drinking slightly less than he ought to, but in Caspar’s condition, he would need as much hydration as possible, _and_ he wouldn’t be able to travel as quickly. The odds of them reaching the town before one or both of them succumbed to the extreme heat were slim.

On the other hand, the ruins were only a day away. There were some passages in Linhardt’s book that suggested the ruins might still bear plant life...not to mention—

Caspar reached for one of his hands, taking it in his own and squeezing lightly. “Hey, you’ve got that really complicated look on your face,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m thinking about which way to go from here. Should we proceed, or head back?”

“We should keep going,” said Caspar. “I’ll be okay.”

“That’s not the issue,” said Linhardt. “If we don’t find more water, we could very well die out here.”

“Aw, don’t be so negative,” said Caspar. “You keep yours, I’ll manage somehow. It’s my fault for using mine up so early anyways.”

Normally, this was the point in the conversation where Linhardt would sigh and pretend to agree with him, because Linhardt didn’t believe in forcing anybody to do anything. And then Caspar would go on ahead with whatever nonsense he’d come up with this time, and Linhardt would have to bail him out as usual.

But they certainly didn’t have the luxury for that now.

“Caspar,” Linhardt said, “If you go for more than a day without water in this climate, _you will die._ ”

Caspar frowned. “Uh, no. That’s not true. There’s no way I would go down that eas—“

“How long did you go without it today?” Linhardt asked, cutting across him.

“W-well...since this morning. I only noticed when we stopped.”

“About ten hours, then,” said Linhardt. “And at the end of that, you passed out for two and a half.”

“I was just a little dizzy, okay?” said Caspar. “It’s not a big deal.”

Linhardt just stared down at him, as balefully as he could manage.

Caspar squirmed. “Okay, okay, fine,” he said after a moment. “But I still think we should keep going.”

“And why is that, pray tell?” said Linhardt. 

“Well,” said Caspar, “We don’t really know what’s ahead, but we know for sure that the only thing behind us is a bunch of sand.”

That...was actually sound logic. It caught Linhardt off-guard.

“Uh,” said Caspar, “How come you’re looking at me like that?”

“I’m starting to wonder if _I’m_ the one who got too much sun today,” said Linhardt. “It almost sounded like you were talking sense.”

“Hey!”  
“I’m joking,” said Linhardt. “But I do suppose you’re right.”

So it was that they decided to press on. Linhardt was reluctant to allow Caspar to keep traveling right away, but the night was blessedly cold and they couldn’t afford to waste time. They set off soon after, Linhardt resolving to keep a closer eye on his companion. He knew from experience that Caspar was not to be trusted in matters pertaining to his own health. 

“Tell me at once if you feel lightheaded,” Linhardt told him.

“Sure,” came the reply, easily enough. But he wouldn’t, Linhardt knew. 

The things he put up with for this man. 

The moon was bright, and Linhardt set their course by the stars, keeping the constellation of the Immaculate One to their left. Their conversation was sparse this time, and they took several short rests, but they made good time, all things considered.

It was in the rosy light of dawn, as the sun peeked over the horizon but hadn’t yet warmed the earth it looked upon, Linhardt called for a halt.

“Let’s stop here,” he said, all too happy to shed his pack in the sand.

“I can keep going,” said Caspar stubbornly, despite looking as unsteady on his feet as a newborn colt.

“Yes, but _I’m_ tired,” said Linhardt, because it was true and Caspar wouldn’t argue with it.

“We’ve gotta be so close, though,” grumbled Caspar, but sure enough he set his pack down in the sand beside Linhardt’s.

Somehow, between the two of them they managed to set up their shelter, before falling asleep immediately inside.

Once again, Linhardt awoke to sweltering heat, but this time, he woke before Caspar. This was a rare occurrence, and one that didn’t bode well, given the circumstance. He checked Caspar over quickly; a touch on his forehead, an ear to his chest to listen to his heart. Thankfully, he seemed normal. Still, though. Linhardt kept his head laying against Caspar’s chest for a little while longer. Just to hear his heart beating. 

How awfully disappointing it would be if they’d survived the war and all of their adventures only to die of thirst in the middle of a desert. Linhardt imagined somebody finding their bones, centuries in the future, skeletons entangled in the sand, just like this. 

Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.

Caspar made a little noise in his sleep, one hand moving to rest on Linhardt’s back. 

Well. They weren’t dead yet. 

Linhardt fell asleep again after that, and when he woke again, the heat had abated slightly and Caspar was awake, eager to resume traveling. They were close enough to the ruins now that by Linhardt’s estimation they would reach them before nightfall. Linhardt walked beside Caspar, watching him closely and making sure that they each took some water every hour.

The third time, Caspar only pretended to drink. “Ah, that hit the spot,” he said, holding the waterskin back out to Linhardt. 

Linhardt didn’t take it. 

“W-what?” said Caspar. “Here, you gotta drink too.”

“Caspar,” said Linhardt irritably, “How much more difficult for me are you intending to make this?”

“I’m not—“ Caspar started, then withered under the force of Linhardt’s glare. “Look, I just...it feels wrong, taking your water. It was my fault I ran out, so...”

“It won’t make a difference at this point,” said Linhardt. “Unless we manage to find a source of water at the ruins, we’re _both_ going to dehydrate out here.”

“Yeah, but you were smart!” argued Caspar. “You didn’t waste yours. So you should at least—“

“Just what do you expect me to do with your corpse when you finally keel over? Take it with me? Abandon it?”

“Ugh...I know,” said Caspar, looking away. “But come on, I’m tougher than you. I...I don’t wanna watch that happen to you, either.”

“If luck is with us, neither of us will have to. And if it isn’t...we might as well die together, don’t you think?” said Linhardt, quite sensibly, if he said so himself.

“I don’t like it when you put it like _that,_ ” said Caspar, then sighed. “But yeah, all right.”

“Good,” said Linhardt. “Then drink.”

Caspar did. 

The terrain began to shift as the afternoon wore on, the loose sand giving way to firmer, though still arid, ground.

“Hey, Linhardt,” said Caspar. “Do birds drink water?”

“...I’m going to assume that sounded more intelligent in your head,” said Linhardt.

“Wh—look—hey, have _you_ ever seen one actually drinking anything?” he sputtered.

Linhardt thought about this for a moment. “No,” he said eventually. “But they must. Why do you ask?”

“I just saw some flying up above. You figure it’s like the thing on boats where if you see birds, you’re close to land? But for water.”

Linhardt looked up, the harsh sunlight stinging his eyes as he scanned the sky. “You may very well be right,” he said, then spotted them. Three of them, circling high above. “Hm. Those appear to be vultures. No doubt awaiting our untimely demise so they can make a meal of us.”

“Yeah, well, they can keep dreaming,” declared Caspar, then shouted up at the birds, “You hear that?! Go find somebody else to eat, you feathery jerks!”

“You’ll waste all your energy, shouting like that,” said Linhardt.

“Nah,” said Caspar. “It’s good for morale.”

“Who in Seiros’ name put _that_ idea in your head?”

“Well, actually—“ Caspar started, then frowned. “...Hubert did.”

“Oh,” said Linhardt. 

They both fell silent, after that. 

It was about an hour before sunset when Linhardt spotted something in the distance. He squinted through the heat haze, trying to discern whether it was a mirage, or the real thing. 

“Do you see that too?” he asked Caspar, pointing.

“Huh? Oh...” Caspar had been flagging, looking noticeably less alert for the last half hour or so, but now he perked up. “Yeah! Is that a building?”

“We may have found our ruins,” said Linhardt. “Now if only we could be lucky enough to find something to drink, too.”

“We will,” said Caspar resolutely. “We have to.”

When they arrived, it was dusk. The ruins, Linhardt noted with some astonishment, seemed remarkably intact, if worn down and half-buried by sand. It looked like there had once been a city here, in ages long past. The skeletons of buildings rose from the ground, shattered paving stones lining what must have been roads. 

“This place...sure is something,” said Caspar, slumping against the wall of a nearby building. 

Linhardt hummed absently in response, running a hand over the wall to try to determine its material. It was some kind of stone, smooth and cool to the touch, despite the lingering heat in the desert air.

No, his investigation would have to wait, as much as it pained him. He straightened up. “Well, I suppose we should take shelter for the night...one of these buildings should serve.”

“Shouldn’t we...find some more water?” said Caspar. 

“That can wait until morning,” said Linhardt. “We have enough to last us until tomorrow.”

“Okay,” said Caspar, clearly too exhausted to argue.

“Come on,” Linhardt said, going over to lend him a shoulder. He regretted it almost immediately as Caspar sagged against him—he was _heavy._

“Sorry,” said Caspar weakly. 

Linhardt shook his head, leading him towards a relatively intact-looking building. “I’m surprised you got this far at all, in your condition,” he said. 

“’Course I did,” mumbled Caspar. “Who d’you think you’re talkin’ to?”

“Somebody who needs a good sleep,” said Linhardt, then yawned. “That makes two of us, actually.”

The night was cold, predictably. The walls surrounding them were cracked and broken, too much to keep much of the heat in and the cold air out, but it was still comforting, somehow, to have them. Linhardt laid out their blankets on the floor next to each other, in a corner still covered by the remains of the roof.

“It would be nice if we could start a fire,” he said. “I could start one with magic, but fuel is the problem.”

“...Not much to burn,” said Caspar, sitting with his back propped up against the wall. He seemed barely conscious, head dropped to his chest.

Very, very briefly, Linhardt considered burning his books. If they were to die here anyways...but no. He couldn’t bear the thought. “Come here and lie down properly,” he said to Caspar, going over to help him up.

“Yeah...okay...” said Caspar, as Linhardt pulled him towards the blankets to set him down on it. “Lin, wait,” he said, as Linhardt went to rise again.

“What is it?” said Linhardt.

Caspar shook his head, reaching up to tug at Linhardt’s sleeve. “C’mere...please?”

Linhardt had been planning to spend the next couple of hours going through his books, trying to find any clue that could help them. But... “All right,” he murmured, laying down again. “Just for a little bit.”

“Love you, Lin,” said Caspar, snuggling into him, head resting against Linhardt’s chest.

“Yes,” said Linhardt, ducking his face to press a kiss to the top of Caspar’s head. “...I love you too.”

He didn’t end up doing any research that night. 

It was already late in the morning when they rose; the walls and ceiling of the building hadn’t kept the cold in, but now they were keeping the heat out. Linhardt checked their water supply and found they had only enough to last through the afternoon, at best.

“Kinda feels like it used to before a battle,” said Caspar, as they shared a meal of trail rations. “We’re going out there and we don’t know if we’re gonna come back alive.”

“Perhaps that’s how _you_ felt,” said Linhardt. “I always had every confidence _I_ would return alive. I was more concerned about you.”

“Aw, Lin, you worried about me that much?” said Caspar, grinning.

“’Worry’ is a word for it,” said Linhardt. “’Bracing for the inevitable’ is another.”

Caspar snorted. “That’s like, five words.”

“Four, actually,” said Linhardt, reaching for one of his books. “Now, about our plan for today...” He flipped it open to a page with a rough diagram of the ruins, poorly drawn in some age gone by. “Whoever drew this didn’t give us much to go on. There is something, though...”

“Yeah?” said Caspar. “Come on, don’t just trail off like that.”

“I’m not sure what to make of it, to be truthful,” said Linhardt. “Look here.” He pointed to a corner of the map bearing writing; some scribbled words, and a strange symbol.

“Just looks like a bunch of squiggles to m—wait...does that say, ‘river’?”

“I wish it were clearer,” said Linhardt, “But it certainly appears that way. I’ve been trying to make sense of it this past day...it must have to do with this symbol, here, but I’ve no idea what it means.”

Caspar peered at it intensely, as if by staring hard enough he could force it to give up its secrets. After a few moments, he gave up, shaking his head. “Yeah, I got nothing. If there really is a river, though, we’re saved! This is great!”

“But it’s impossible,” said Linhardt, frowning. “A river in the desert? And even if it did exist, why isn’t it on any maps?”

“You think too much,” said Caspar. “Let’s just get out there and look around.”

“We should at least keep an eye out for that symbol,” Linhardt said. 

“Yeah,” said Caspar. “Oh, and I had an idea. Now that there’s actual structures around, I was thinking I could climb one. Get the lay of the land.”

“That’s a good idea,” said Linhardt, reluctantly. “But you’re not in any shape to be climbing anything.”

“What? I’m in great shape,” said Caspar. “I can do it, I’m fine.”

“Caspar, you once told me you were fine when you had ten broken bones and twenty-three major lacerations.”

“Yeah, and I was! See, I survived and everything.”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response,” said Linhardt. 

“Relax,” said Caspar. “I’ll find something easy to climb. I dunno, maybe some of these buildings still have stairs in them. If they used stairs in whatever crazy culture they had back then.”

“I must admit, I’m slightly disappointed,” said Linhardt. “These ruins don’t look Agarthan.”

“Oh well. That just means they’re something else, right? Mysteries are way more interesting.”

“They’re interesting when you can solve them,” said Linhardt. “Which we won’t be able to do if we die here.”

“We’re not going to!” said Caspar. “Come on, let’s get going before the sun gets too hot.”

“I suppose we should,” said Linhardt, sighing.

The truth was, Linhardt was a pessimist. It was better, he had always thought, to expect the worst in any given situation. Criticism came to him more naturally than praise, and when he was younger, he’d prided himself on being ready for death at a moment’s notice. But it had been a long time, since then. A long time spent in the company of Caspar’s relentless, unfailing optimism, and a long time away from the harsh realities of war.

Linhardt couldn’t bring himself to hope that they would survive this. But he wished they would. 

The worst of both worlds.

“What do you see?” he called up to Caspar. They’re been walking through the ruins for more than an hour before they came across a relatively intact building tall enough to provide a vantage. The stairway inside was crumbled and missing in places, so Linhardt had elected to stay on the ground. 

“Not much,” called back Caspar. “More buildings. This place is huge! Hold on, I think I can get around the other side.”

“Be careful,” said Linhardt, but really, he knew it was a waste of breath. 

A few moments later, he heard from the opposite side: “All right, from here I can see—“ he cut off suddenly.

“You can’t just stop like that,” said Linhardt, moving quickly in that direction. “Unless you’re intending to kill me with suspense, which some might argue would be less cruel than dehydration, but even so—“

Caspar came into view as he rounded the corner, standing in a large hole in the wall of the upper storey. As soon as he saw Linhardt, he looked down, and a gigantic grin split his face. “Linhardt! I see trees!” 

“What kind of trees?” Linhardt pressed him when he got back down to the ground. 

Caspar leaned against the wall of the building, obviously trying not to look like he was tired already. “You know,” he said. “Trees. All...green and stuff.”

“Yes, but what _species_ of trees, Caspar? Palm trees?”

“I think so,” he said. “Yeah, probably.”

“That answer does not inspire much confidence,” said Linhardt.

“Well, _you_ can climb up there and look if you want.”

Linhardt looked at the crumbling building in front of them. “I think I’ll have to take your word for it,” he said. “Can you lead us there, at least?”

“Yeah,” he said, pushing off from the wall. “It didn’t look close, but we’ll get there. Good thing there’s shade in this place.”

“Mm,” said Linhardt, yawning. “We should hurry up and find these trees of yours. Trees would mean water, and water means life. If we’re not about to perish, I should like to take a nap.”

“Come on,” said Caspar. “Aren’t you excited? We’re finally finding a way out of this mess!”

“Oh, I’m excited all right,” said Linhardt. “But all of this excitement is really beginning to wear me out. Lead on, Caspar, to greener pastures and the hope for hydration.”

“I’m not gonna carry you if you fall asleep on your feet,” Caspar warned, setting off. 

“Duly noted,” said Linhardt, following after him.

The ruins, as Caspar had so adroitly put it, were huge. It must have been a city of some magnitude, when it was still inhabited. What had happened here to cause it to be abandoned, Linhardt wondered. The ebb and flow of history was fascinating to him; what parts of culture were destroyed or preserved, the narratives spun from real world events, the oh-so-delicate sequences of events that led the world to where it stood in the present. He’d always found it comforting to put in perspective his own insignificance in the grand scheme of things.

Especially in times like these when he was trying not to get his hopes up. It was only practical, he reasoned. Caspar supplied more than enough raw optimism for their little duo, so _somebody_ had to bring the cold hard logic, in case that optimism failed. This was a burden Linhardt had accepted, silently, because on the rare occasion that Caspar blundered into a problem he couldn't overcome by sheer force of will, he looked to Linhardt for help. It was a treasured thing to him, that faith. And Linhardt guarded it jealously. 

By the time they arrived at the location Caspar had spotted, they were running dangerously low on water. Not to mention...

“These aren’t trees,” said Linhardt. 

“I mean...they kind of look like trees,” said Caspar. “They did from a distance, okay?”

What they were, in fact, were tall, thick-stemmed plants, splitting at the top into long, spiked leaves that hung down like hair. “I believe this is a type of cactus,” said Linhardt.

“What? No way. I’ve seen cactuses before, and they look totally different.”

“It’s _cacti_ , Caspar, and did you forget we’re on a completely separate continent? Of course there are different species.”

Caspar approached one of the plants, frowning. “Well, it’s still really weir—ow!”

Linhardt rolled his eyes, striding over to Caspar and taking the hand that he’d just pricked on the cactus’ spines. “Was that really necessary?” he asked, locating the needle sticking into Caspar’s finger and pulling it out before swiping his thumb over the spot with healing magic.

“I just wanted to see...” muttered Caspar, embarrassed. 

“You do have eyes,” said Linhardt. 

“Yeah, yeah,” said Caspar, taking back his hand. “Alright, so...cactuses. Now what?”

“It’s...” Linhardt sighed, shaking his head. “Never mind.” He looked around. They were standing in what once must have been a garden, judging by the remains of the low stone wall surrounding them.  
Cacti...they were hardy enough to survive even in environments with such little water. There were some types, Linhardt had read, that it was possible to extract water from, but it wasn’t always safe to drink. And he wouldn’t know where to start with these ones.

Something else was bothering him, though. This city. They’d been walking through it for some time now, and he’d noticed something peculiar...or a lack thereof. There was nothing suggesting the presence of water. No ditches, no gutters, no aqueducts, no fountains, nothing. It should have been impossible. People _had_ lived here, after all—hadn’t they?

A wave of exhaustion washed over Linhardt. They were no closer to solving this problem than they were this morning, and he was tired, and too hot, and thirsty. But he couldn’t give up. Caspar wouldn’t give up, so Linhardt couldn’t give up either, no matter how much he wanted to.

So: why were there cacti here and not elsewhere? _Was_ there a source of water nearby? If so, where? How? Localized rain? No, too fanciful. But wait...

Linhardt studied the ground. Yes, he could see it now...the cacti were all grouped around a particular area, and in the middle of that was a large circular gap. He walked over to it and scuffed the dirt and sand with his foot, to see if...ah yes, there.

“I may have found something,” he called over to Caspar, who was examining a cactus—without touching it this time, fortunately.

“Yeah?” he said, coming over. “What is it?”

“There’s something buried here, I think,” said Linhardt.

Caspar cracked his knuckles. “Digging, huh? Alright, I got it.”

Linhardt stepped aside. “By all means,” he said.

They made a good team. 

“Whoa, you’re right,” said Caspar, a few minutes of enthusiastic excavation later. “There’s a big chunk of...I think it’s metal? Like a door or something.”

“I thought so,” said Linhardt, sitting nearby and reading.

Caspar scooped aside another armful of dirt. “Wait a second...hey, Linhardt, is this that symbol that was in your book?”

Linhardt snapped his book closed and got up to take a look. Caspar had uncovered what appeared to be a large, circular piece of metal, and in the middle of it was indeed that symbol. “It appears to be, yes.” He felt around the side of the circle where Caspar had uncovered it, and discovered a groove where the metal ended and stone began. “This appears to be a lid of some sort,” he said. “If we can uncover it and get it open...”

“All our problems are over!” said Caspar, grinning. 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” said Linhardt. 

“Would it kill you to think positive for once?” said Caspar.

“I can think of more than one occasion when me agreeing with your....optimistic assessment would have gotten us killed. Many occasions, in fact. This is a frequent occurrence. So, yes, quite possibly, I think it could kill me to ‘think positive’.”

“Whatever,” said Caspar, wiping his face and leaving a smear of dirt behind. “I’ll just have to prove I’m right by getting this thing open!”

Linhardt looked at him for a moment. There wasn’t any shade here, and the full heat of the afternoon sun was beating down with impunity. As much as Linhardt hated getting his hands dirty.... He sighed. “I’ll help,” he said, putting aside his book.

Between the two of them, they managed to get the rest uncovered fairly quickly, although Linhardt learned the hard way that _any_ amount of exertion was compounded by the heat. By the time they finished, he was sweating a rather uncomfortable amount. “Good...” he panted, sitting back to admire their handiwork. “Now...we just need to...”

“Y-yeah...” said Caspar. “Just....need a second...”

Linhardt checked their water supply—nearly gone. Certainly not enough for two. He hesitated for just a moment, and then passed the waterskin to Caspar, sitting next to him. “Here,” he said. “Drink the rest.”

Caspar frowned at him. “But...”

Linhardt shook his head, tried to catch his breath. He gestured at the metal lid they’d uncovered. “I won’t be able to move that on my own. You won’t either, if you pass out. And if we do find water under there....somehow...well, it won’t be a problem anymore, will it?”

Caspar was still frowning, but he nodded reluctantly. “Alright...but...I’m gonna leave a little. Wouldn’t feel right, drinking it all.”

“Suit yourself,” said Linhardt, shrugging, even as a sudden swell of affection rose in his chest. He wanted to hope they would survive this. He ached to hope. But even now, after all these years...faith didn’t come easily to him.

Caspar drank, and then passed the waterskin back. Then he looked at Linhardt thoughtfully.

“What is it?” said Linhardt. 

Caspar gave a little smile, and bumped his shoulder against Linhardt’s. “It’s gonna be alright,” he said. “You’ll see. Just trust me, okay?”

It was unfair, how perceptive he could be when Linhardt didn’t expect it. He tried to smile back, but it flickered and died, like a candle being snuffed out. “You don’t know that,” he said.

“No, but I believe it. I got us into this mess, so...I gotta believe it. And I can do it enough for the two of us, so...you can leave that to me too.” His eyes shone earnestly as he looked into Linhardt’s own, and the affection Linhardt felt for this man was suddenly too much to bear. 

He kissed him. 

“Whoa, hey,” chuckled Caspar, blushing under his sunburnt, grime-streaked cheeks. “What was that for?”

“Do I need a reason?” said Linhardt.

“Guess not,” said Caspar, still smiling. 

They stayed like that a few minutes longer, quietly basking in each others’ company. But at last, Caspar turned his gaze to the structure they’d unearthed. 

“Guess we’d better get moving,” he said.

Linhardt wished he could shake his head. Tell him, no, they could just stay like this, in this moment where hope still remained, and Caspar could smile. “Yes,” he said instead, quietly.

Caspar took his hand. “We’ll be okay,” he said. 

Linhardt wanted to believe him. And maybe that was enough. He nodded. “...We’ll be okay,” he echoed.

Caspar smiled at him, a bright and dazzling smile that almost hurt to look at—but Linhardt did, because he wanted to burn it into his mind, this wonderful, beautiful image of Caspar smiling at him, in case he never got to see it again. “Alright,” said Caspar. “Let’s do this.”

The metal cover, Linhardt was able to determine, wasn’t attached to the stone beneath. 

“So, I just have to lift it?” said Caspar.

“Perhaps not...lifting, so much as moving aside,” said Linhardt, eyeing the thick slab of metal, the circumfrence of which was almost as wide as Caspar was tall. 

“No problem,” said Caspar, with confidence. “Just stand back.”

Somewhat apprehensively, Linhardt did.

Caspar stood in front of the metal slab, sizing it up with a particular glint in his eyes that showed up every time he was met with a challenge he could plausibly overcome with force. Or implausibly, but it never seemed to stop him from trying. Then he found his grip at the edge of the thing, squared his shoulders, planted his feet, and _lifted_. 

“GrrraaaaAAAHHHH!” he roared, as with the sound of metal grinding against stone, the slab slowly rose up, and with a violent shove, Caspar heaved it to one side. One edge of it thudded down into the sandy soil as it tipped off the side of the circular stone structure, and Caspar immediately followed, flopping on his back onto the ground. 

“That was certainly a spectacle,” said Linhardt.

“Ughh...that was _heavy,_ ” complained Caspar, one arm draped over his eyes, then quickly added, “I mean, not that it was too much for me, I’m awesome. Would’ve been a piece of cake if I was at the top of my game.”

“Naturally,” said Linhardt. He wasn’t looking at what had been under the slab. Probably nothing. It was probably nothing, and if he looked there would be no taking it back. 

Caspar peeked at him from under his arm. “So...what’s the verdict?” he said.

And it seemed as though he had no choice. Very reluctantly, he approached the edge of the stone circle, and...it looked to form a hollow tube, down into the earth. “It looks like,” said Linhardt, peering down it, feeling blessedly cool, stale air wafting up from the dark depths. “Well...it looks like a well. I don’t know how far down it goes. I can’t see the bottom.”

“A well?” said Caspar. “Like, for water?”

“I don’t know,” said Linhardt. “I can’t imagine—“ he paused, cocking an ear. “Wait. I hear something.”

Something dripping. Something gushing. Something trickling. Was it—

“What is it?” said Caspar, propping himself up on his arms now, worry marring his eager expression.

“...Water,” said Linhardt, scarcely daring to believe it. “I hear water.”

Caspar’s eyes went wide, and he lunged to his feet. Too quickly—Linhardt had to catch him to keep him from toppling headfirst down the well. “Whoa! Oh man, okay, there’s really water down there? That’s great!”

“It _sounds_ like water,” said Linhardt, still unable to quite believe it. He still expected everything to go wrong, somehow.

“Let’s go find out!” said Caspar.

“We need to find a way down, first,” said Linhardt. 

Caspar peered intently downwards. “Looks like there’s a ladder,” he said. “Or there used to be. See, look, it’s built into the wall.”

Linhardt looked. And indeed, he saw a set of rusted metal bars set into the wall of the well, forming a crude ladder leading down into the darkness. “That looks...unsound,” he said. 

Caspar snorted. “I’ll go first,” he said. 

“Can’t I just—“ Linhardt started, but Caspar cut across him.

“Nope. You’re coming, Lin. We’re doing this together.” He took Linhardt’s hand and squeezed it, meeting his gaze.

Ugh. It was so unfair. How could he refuse that? Linhardt shook his head, resigned. “All right. I’ll come down after you.”

Caspar beamed at him. He must have known, by now, that Linhardt would do anything for that smile. Except he probably didn’t even realize, because it was _Caspar,_ after all. He drew Linhardt into a hug, suddenly. “It’s gonna be fine,” he said.

“I know,” said Linhardt. He didn’t, but he was almost starting to believe it. 

The descent into the well was as unpleasant as Linhardt expected it to be, and slow to boot. The rungs of the ‘ladder’ were rough against his hands, layers of rust crumbling under his touch. Any of them could snap at any second. Some of them had already; as Linhardt decended, Caspar called out: “Careful, there’s a rung missing,” or “Watch out, there’s a couple broken here.”

The sound of running water got louder as they went down, in conjunction with the sunlight growing fainter. The sound was maddening—water, so close by, but they were moving so _slowly_. Linhardt was beginning to get concerned about if they’d be able to scale the ladder to get _out_ again, but then Caspar started singing.

He was a terrible singer. The only thing he had going for him was pure volume; in the narrow tunnel of the well shaft, the sound echoed and was amplified to painful levels, and Linhardt quickly became too annoyed to be concerned about anything.

“Are we near the bottom yet?” he called, when it had gone on long enough.

“What?” said Caspar, thankfully stopping his awful caterwauling to do so.

“How much farther?”

Caspar paused to consider. “It’s too dark,” he said.

Linhardt lifted a hand away from the ladder, twisting in order to send a flaming bolt of magic down into the depths. “How about now?” he said.

“H-hey, careful! Warn a guy first, would you?” 

“Yes, yes,” said Linhardt. “Do you _see_ anything?”

“Yeah, I think so. Doesn’t look too far...maybe thirty feet more. And I think—it just looked like running water down there.”

“...No ground?” said Linhardt.

“I don’t know,” said Caspar, “But it’s too late to go back now!”

For better or for worse, he was right. The air was getting damp now; Linhardt could almost taste the water waiting for them below, and after days of the tepid, still water from his waterskin, he longed for it. The ladder was getting less and less reliable as they neared the bottom, with missing or broken rungs as many as four in a row. 

Then Caspar stopped. “...Looks like the ladder’s out after this,” he said, just below Linhardt. He had to talk loudly, over the roar of water.

Linhardt looked down. The bottom was still far enough that he couldn’t make it out. “I still can’t see the bottom,” he said.

“I don’t think it’s much farther,” said Caspar. “I’m gonna jump.”

“You said there’s water,” said Linhardt uneasily. “What if it’s deep? It could carry you away.”

“I mean, yeah, I guess so,” said Caspar. “But it beats sitting around and waiting to die in the sun.”

“Escaping death by dehydration only to meet your fate by drowning,” muttered Linhardt. “Only you, Caspar.”

“Sorry, didn’t catch that?”

“Nothing,” said Linhardt. “Very well. If you’re so determined.”

“Okay. Here goes!” said Caspar, and leapt into the darkness. Linhardt’s heart skipped several beats, breath held, until suddenly there was a loud splash and a yell of surprise.

“Caspar?” called Linhardt helplessly.

“I’m fine!” he called back. “Just—phew! Wow. Colder than I expected. It’s definitely water, though! Goes up to about my waist.”

Linhardt carefully descended until he reached the point where the ladder stopped, then lifted a hand away from it again and made a magic light in his hand, peering down uncertainly. He could just make out Caspar, about twenty feet below, grinning up at him and waist deep in a dark, undulating ribbon of water. “I suppose I’ll have to jump,” he said. 

“Yeah, go ahead! I’ll catch you,” said Caspar, arms out. 

Linhardt hesitated. He glanced up; the sun had already began to set when they had started down, and now all he could see above was the dark red glow of it. There was no hope for them, on the surface. But if he jumped down, would either of them be able to make it up again? If the ladder was out...

“C’mon, Lin!” called Caspar.

Well, there was nothing else for it. “Here goes,” he said.

He jumped. The air rushed past, swiftly, coolly, and the rushing water was coming up fast, and—his fall was arrested by a pair of strong arms, and he found himself looking up at Caspar’s face. He was still smiling, but up close like this, Linhardt could tell how tired he was. “Got you,” he said.

“Very good,” said Linhardt. “Now, put me down.”

“Hmm, I dunno, I think I like you like this,” said Caspar. “Even though you’ve gotten kinda heavy.”

“That’s—“ Linhardt started to protest, but he was cut off by Caspar kissing him. “What was _that_ for?” he said after.

“Oh, now I need a reason?” said Caspar, chuckling as he rested his forehead against Linhardt’s. “Just glad the drop didn’t kill me. Also, I love you.”

“Noted,” said Linhardt, not quite as dryly as he’d been intending. “Now would you _please_ put me down? I really would like a drink, if this water is clean.”

“Alright, but I’m warning you, it’s freezing,” said Caspar, and sure enough, Linhardt could see the gooseflesh on his bare arms. Then he put Linhardt down.

The shock of the cold after the day spent in the blinding desert sun, coupled with the surprisingly strong current, nearly caused Linhardt to lose his balance, but Caspar had kept ahold of his arm. He hissed out a breath, bracing himself against the flow. “You were right,” he said. “...It’s cold.”

“You think it’s safe to drink?” said Caspar, looking longingly down at the water.

“If the shaft that we came down is any indication, yes. It appears to have been a well. How curious that its source is running water, instead of still.”

Caspar scooped up a double handful of it, and gulped it down with no hesitation. “Tastes fine,” he said, then scooped up some more. “Tastes _great_. This is the best water I’ve ever had, hands down.”

“That’s just because you’re thirsty,” said Linhardt, but he couldn’t help scooping up some water for himself. It tasted heavenly. Cold and refreshing. Life-giving. He took another drink, then another.

“Careful, Lin, you’re gonna drink the whole river,” said Caspar, laughing. “Guess we really did find it, huh? A river in the desert.”

“A river _under_ the desert,” corrected Linhardt.

Caspar snorted, still wearing his easy, goofy grin of relief. “Come _on_ , aren’t you even gonna smile? Everything’s fine now. See? We can load up on water and get back on the road.”

For the thousandth time today, Linhardt wished he could experience even a tenth of Caspar’s optimism. But now that they were down in a cold, dark cave waist deep in freezing water, he didn’t feel quite so bad about quashing it. “You do realize we don’t have a way out of here,” he pointed out, already starting to feel his teeth chatter.

Caspar blinked a few times, and then looked up the way they came. “Oh yeah,” he said. “I guess the ladder’s out.” He pondered this for a moment. “Okay, how about...wait, don’t you know a spell that like, teleports people?”

“Warp magic,” said Linhardt. “Yes. But it’s been years since I used it. And even if I could, it’s enormously taxing. I don’t have the energy for it.”

“Okay, so that’s out,” said Caspar, scratching his chin. “What else...”

Linhardt left him to his thinking for a moment as he refilled their waterskins. It was what they had come down here for, after all. And there was another reason Linhardt didn’t want to use his warp magic. He probably could, if he _really_ tried. But...

He wouldn’t be able to use it on himself. And he would probably pass out afterwards, in the state he was in, which would inevitably lead to him drowning, considering the circumstance. Caspar would survive, of course, deposited harmlessly back on the surface, ideally with water to spare. 

Selfishly, Linhardt didn’t like the idea of Caspar living on without him. Without Linhardt to tend to his never-ending parade of injuries, without Linhardt to pretend to be annoyed at whatever mess he’d gotten himself into this time, without Linhardt to tell him for the thousand thousandth time to mind his table manners. There had been five long years in Linhardt’s life that he’d been separated from Caspar, and it had been a dark, miserable time that even now he couldn’t bear thinking about. And he didn’t want to think about _this_ , either.

Thankfully he was distracted by Caspar’s sudden cry of determination. “Alright! I got it. I’m gonna climb back up! Here, get on my back.” He faced the wall, crouching down slightly, presumably so Linhardt could do as he asked. Linhardt looked at the wall of the wellshaft. It seemed to be constructed from the same smooth stone as the buildings, and down here at the level of the water, it was slick with moisture. 

“There’s no way you’re going to be able to climb that,” Linhardt said.

“You don’t know that! I gotta at least try,” said Caspar. “Here, watch this!” And he leapt for the wall. The water killed the momentum of his upward jump; Caspar scrabbled gamely for purchase in the stone, but there was none to be found, and he toppled back down into the water with a yelp and a splash.

“Very impressive,” said Linhardt, when he floundered back to the surface.

“Errrgh...l-look, I had t-to...to try it, okay?” said Caspar, getting his feet under him. His tone was a normal Caspar level of indignant, but he was shivering, now. “D-don’t suppose you’ve g-got any b-bright ideas.”

Linhardt moved closer to him, changing the light magic glow in his hand to a fire spell, radiating warmth. It wouldn’t do much good for the parts of them submerged in the water, but Caspar shifted towards the flame gratefully. “We don’t have much choice,” said Linhardt. “We’ll have to keep moving. If we’re lucky we’ll find another well that’s open, or this river will surface somewhere.”

“Whoa. L-Linhardt, you’re a g-genius! Let’s go! Wait, which w-way?”

“We’ll have to move with the current if we’ve any hope of getting anywhere,” said Linhardt, unwilling to point out the holes in his plan. Even if they found a ladder that wasn’t broken, the odds that the top wouldn’t be sealed off were low. But he was cold, and they _did_ need to keep moving—they wouldn’t last long if they didn’t.

So they started heading downstream. Walking through the water was difficult, though the current helped. Linhardt regretted his heavy, sun-blocking cloak, water creeping up to soak it through, tangling in his legs. He took it off, but he couldn’t very well discard it, in case they actually did survive and needed to travel back across the scorching sands. Ugh. What a disaster this whole trip was. If they _did_ survive this, he was never leaving Fodlan again. 

They walked like this for what must have been hours. The river was wide enough for them to walk side by side with room to spare, Linhardt stepping slightly behind. He would never be able to understand where Caspar got his bottomless reserves of energy, how he was able to keep moving even when his body was protesting from injury or illness. Linhardt himself would have happily dozed off on the spot if they weren’t waist deep in freezing water.

From time to time, they did pass what seemed to be more wellshafts, but as before, the bottom rungs of their ladders were rusted away, and besides that, they couldn’t see the sky up top, which meant they were covered. The third time they passed one, it was partially collapsed, and they had to navigate around chunks of rock that had fallen into the river.

“We should rest here,” Linhardt said, noticing a pile of rocks that protruded out of the water, making a makeshift platform. He didn’t even wait for Caspar to protest, taking his arm and pulling him towards it, and it was a testament to how exhausted he must of been that he didn’t fight it.

“Be good to eat something,” Caspar said, as they pulled themselves up from the water. Linhardt’s legs were numb from the cold. 

“Good idea,” he said.

They rested there for some time, conversing little; after consuming a meal of rations, Linhardt busied himself with maintaining a magicial fire warm enough to dry out their clothes. They would have to go back into the water at some point, but if they were to die down here, he could at least offer them these last few moments of comfort. At some point, Caspar nodded off, his head lolling against Linhardt’s shoulder.

It was dangerous to linger too long, Linhardt knew. But he didn’t want to wake Caspar up. Just a little while longer, he thought. They could wait here just a little while longer.

Eventually, however, they had to press on again. Back into the bracing cold of the river, back on their journey towards uncertain salvation. Caspar, at least, seemed cheered by his temporary respite. 

“I can’t believe I was the one napping, instead of you,” he said, after they’d recovered from the water’s temperature and resumed sloshing along.

“One of us had to stay awake,” Linhardt said. “Or else we both might never have woken up.”

“ _Okay_ , Lin. You don’t have to make everything sound so dire.”

“It’s a condition,” he said. “Terminal, I’m afraid.”

Caspar bumped him with an elbow, laughing. The sound echoed around the narrow tunnel, pushing back against the cold and dark, keeping hope alive.

It was another few hours—or so Linhardt estimated, it was impossible to accurately track the time down here—before every step he took felt like a monumental effort. They were passing another partially collapsed wellshaft, but the debris from this one was only substantial enough to litter the water with tripping hazards.

Linhardt stumbled over a slab of rock and tripped into Caspar, his magic light fizzling out. “Whoa, careful,” said Caspar, steadying him. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” mumbled Linhardt, his light sparking back into existence. It took much more effort than it should have. Maybe he shouldn’t have slacked off on his magic training all these years.

Caspar frowned, holding onto Linhardt’s shoulders and looking into his face. “You look pretty tired...you didn’t get as much rest as me back there. I’ll carry you for a while, okay?”

Linhardt _was_ tired. He was drawing from the bottom of his magical reserves to keep even his small light going; he’d had to switch from the fire some time ago. And he was cold, and miserable. But Caspar must be too. He feebly attempted to dislodge one of Caspar’s hands with his free one. “You can’t,” he said.

“I’ll be okay. Come on, I’m gonna need you to figure stuff out if we’re stuck here, and you’re not gonna be able to think like that. Just rest for a couple of minutes.”

It was such an enticing offer. To be able to rest, and to be out of the water a little more, and close to Caspar’s body heat. And it was that that sealed the deal: it would help Caspar, too, in that small way. At least, that was a good enough justification for his sluggish mind to accept. “Just for a bit,” he said. 

Caspar’s expression softened into a smile again. Linhardt wished he would stop doing that. Or never stop doing it. One of the two. Goddess, he was so tired. He clambered onto Caspar’s back; he wasn’t as warm as Linhardt had hoped. He wrapped his arms around Caspar’s neck and rested his head against his shoulder. It was a familiar position. Familiarity was comforting. “S’dark now though,” he said.

“Yeah, it’s fine, it’s not like there’s anything down here to see,” said Caspar. 

“Mmmh,” said Linhardt. He was already drifting off. 

When Linhardt came back to consciousness, he experienced a harrowing split-second of confusion at the total darkness, before he noticed something else: Caspar’s laboured movements, sluggish and jerky. “Let me down,” he said, trying to clear the sleep from his voice. “How long was I...”

Caspar stopped moving. “Oh...hey, Lin. Wasn’t too long. Maybe...maybe two hours? Three?” He sounded horribly exhausted.

Linhardt attempted to get down, and belatedly, Caspar let him. Linhardt slid into the freezing water again, and, well, _now_ he was awake. “You should have woken me,” he said.

“Just been walking. Haven’t found anything,” he said. 

Linhardt put his hand on Caspar’s shoulder, the faint glow of healing filling the air as he poured some of his restored magical energy into Caspar. 

“You don’t gotta...” started Caspar, turning to dislodge Linhardt’s hand. Linhardt caught sight of his face before the glow faded—he looked utterly spent, tired lines marring his expression. Linhardt reached for his face instead, and his hand came in contact with the strong line of Caspar’s jaw, rough with stubble. His skin was clammy to the touch. 

“Let me,” Linhardt said. 

Caspar let out a shuddering sigh, leaning into Linhardt’s touch. “Yeah...okay,” he said. 

The glow of magic lit the air again. Caspar’s eyes were closed as the healing danced across his skin, sinking into him. It wouldn’t help much, Linhardt thought with a pang. All it could do was raise Caspar’s vital energy, but that ran the risk of using up resources his body didn’t have. But if it could keep him going for just a little while longer...

Finally, he had given as much as he thought Caspar could take right now. Linhardt went to remove his hand from Caspar’s face, but Caspar lifted his own hand to hold it there. “Feels good,” he said, and Linhardt wasn’t sure now if he was talking about the healing, or his touch. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” said Linhardt. “If you’ll give me my hand back, I’ll make a light for us to see by.”

“You’re the only light I need, Lin,” said Caspar, with a teasing note to his voice, and he was probably wearing that stupid goofy grin of his, but Linhardt was suddenly glad for the darkness; after all this time, and even in a situation like this, Caspar could _still_ make him blush like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous.

“Oh, stop that,” said Linhardt, but he didn’t make an effort to pull away. 

Caspar took the hand Linhardt had to his face, and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “Nah,” he said. “I’m not gonna. I love you too much.”

“Caspar,” said Linhardt, embarrassment compounded by the slight whine in his own voice. It was just because he was tired, he insisted to himself.

Caspar chuckled, a low, tired sound that somehow still was full of warmth, even in this cold, dark place. “Didn’t I tell you? Everything’s gonna be fine. We’ll make it.”

“Stop saying that,” said Linhardt.

“Come on, we’ve survived crazier things.”

Linhardt hesitated. More than anything...more than _anything,_ he couldn’t stand the idea of the world going on turning without Caspar in it. “I could send you,” he whispered into the dark.

“What?” said Caspar, confused.

“I could send you up,” said Linhardt again. “...I lied, earlier. I could use warp magic to lift you to the surface.”

“Well then what are you waiting for?” said Caspar. “Send us up!”

“No,” said Linhardt, then swallowed, reaching out with his other hand until it met with Caspar’s chest. “I...I could send _you._ ”

There was a moment of deafening silence, and then Linhardt’s wrist was trapped in Caspar’s iron grip, and the hand he was already holding was squeezed tight. “ _No,_ ” he growled, and it had been a long time since Linhardt had heard such intensity in his voice. It made his heart ache.

“But...”

“Linhardt, don’t you dare,” said Caspar. 

“We’ll both just die otherwise,” said Linhardt.

“ _I don’t care!_ ” said Caspar, practically shouting, his voice bouncing off the walls in a barrage of echoes.

Linhardt said quietly, “You can’t die. I won’t let you.”

“What are you saying, Lin?” said Caspar, voice breaking. “It was all my fault we ended up here...”

“I was the one who took us out to the desert in the first place,” said Linhardt. He was glad he couldn’t see Caspar’s expression. It already hurt just to hear him.

“That isn’t—it wasn’t—look, it doesn’t matter. We’re here, and I’m not gonna let you die. And I’m not gonna let _me_ die. We’re going to—all we gotta do is just—“ Caspar let go of one of Linhardt’s hands, turning away. “If we keep moving...” he said, then froze. “Lin,” he said urgently. “Am I crazy? Is...is that light up ahead?”

Linhardt sloshed through the water to come stand beside him, squinting into the darkness ahead. There, in the distance...the tiniest speck. “You _are_ crazy,” he said, “But I think I see it too.”

A disbelieving laugh spooled out from Caspar. “Is that the sun coming up? Were we down here all night?”

“It could be—” said Linhardt, tired brain scrambling to come up with some trick it could be, but finding nothing. Light. It was light. 

“We’re getting out of here,” said Caspar, tugging Linhardt forward. “Lin, we’re _getting out of here!_ ”

“Let’s...be cautious,” Linhardt’s mouth said, but his feet couldn’t help but follow. 

It took them another hour to reach the light, the overwhelmingly bright beacon waiting for them at the end of the tunnel. Linhardt lit another magic light so they could better navigate the darkness between, and together they stumbled towards hope, hand in hand.

Before Linhardt could even see past the dazzling brightness, he heard it, over the rush of the river: birds.

Flapping, chirping, whistling, squawking. Playful warbles and no-nonsense caws.

“You were right,” he said to Caspar, both of them leaning on each other now, just barely putting one foot in front of the other.

“Damn right I am,” said Caspar, words slurring from exhaustion. “...What am I right about?”

“Birds,” said Linhardt. “They do drink water.”

And they emerged into the light. The river’s surface, clear and blue, glittered like sapphires under the morning sun; around them was what was once a building with a deep channel running through it, the roof high above having long since caved in to let in the sunlight. Ahead of them, the river disappeared back down into a tunnel. Birds fluttered about, most of them barely seeming to notice or care about the two humans in their midst. Linhardt didn’t recognize most of the species, winged flurries of brown and tan and black, but right now, he hardly cared. 

With one last burst of effort, they pulled themselves out from the river and collapsed beside it, on the floor of broken stone.

Caspar was looking up, squinting into the clear blue sky. “We made it,” he said, sounding like he hardly believed it.

“You’re the one who kept saying we would,” said Linhardt, enjoying simply watching Caspar’s face, even drawn and tired as it was, as the pure joy of living spread across it.

Caspar laughed, turning his head to meet Linhardt’s gaze. His eyes were like the sky, a perfect, endless blue. “We made it! Lin, we made it!”

“Yes,” said Linhardt, eyelids already growing heavy. The sunlight was so warm...and he was just so tired. “Now, I’m just going to take a little nap...”

“Alright,” said Caspar, holding his hand. “I’ll be here.”

And that was all Linhardt needed to know.

It was still light when Linhardt woke, as the midday sun passed directly over the hole in the roof, falling on his face. He blinked awake, then groaned and covered his eyes with an arm. He felt terrible. Hungry, sore, and still slightly damp—but he was alive. But strangely, he was more comfortable than he expected. The surface he was sleeping on was not as hard and unyielding as he remembered. He peeked out from under his arm to see what it was, and...ah. It was Caspar. He was asleep, propped up by their packs and a block of rock from the broken ceiling. Linhardt was resting against his chest, leaned back against him. Caspar must have moved him while he was asleep. Linhardt didn’t mind. This was comfortable. And if he turned his head...he could listen to Caspar’s heart. 

He never got tired of doing this, quietly counting the heartbeats of the man he loved. It was the most beautiful sound in the world. It was proof of life. And above all, right now, it was a promise: that they wouldn’t be dying out here, after all. Linhardt closed his eyes again, listening to the lullaby of water, and birdsong, and Caspar’s heart, beating strong.

The next time he woke, it was late afternoon, the birds were mostly gone, and Caspar still hadn’t moved. “Hey, Lin,” he said quietly, when Linhardt stirred. “You awake?”

“Yes,” he replied, yawning. “I’m surprised you’ve stayed put all this time.”

“Couldn’t help it. You’re too cute, all cuddled up to me like that.”

Linhardt couldn’t see his face, but he could picture the expression on it: the warm, soft smile that he wore whenever he was being disgustingly mushy like this. 

Linhardt wished he could say he hated it. “I’m not cute,” he said petulantly, too sleepy to come up with a proper argument.

Caspar laughed, the sound vibrating pleasantly in his chest. “Sure. Not cute at all. Definitely uncute.”

“’Uncute’ isn’t a word,” said Linhardt.

“Alright,” said Caspar, “Then what do you wanna be? You name it. Anything you want.”

It just wasn’t _fair,_ when he wouldn’t argue back. Linhardt hesitated only for a second, the answer welling up from deep in his heart. “Yours,” he whispered.

Caspar’s arms encircled him, and his head rested against Linhardt’s hair. “Yeah,” he said, “Always.”

They rested like that for a while, Linhardt tangling his fingers in Caspar’s, who let out a soft, happy sigh. “We survived,” said Linhardt, eventually.

“See, I told you,” said Caspar. 

“You didn’t think we were going to,” said Linhardt. “At the end. Not really.”

Caspar didn’t reply right away, the pad of his thumb tracing the bones in the back of Linhardt’s hand. “I guess not,” he said quietly.

“Let’s go somewhere cold next time,” said Linhardt.

“Come on, you just know I’ll find a way to get us frozen to death or something,” said Caspar, laughing a little.

“I wish you were joking,” said Linhardt.

“Yeah, I know. Sorry, Lin.”

Linhardt didn’t want him to be sorry. He shifted himself, turning so that he was sitting in Caspar’s lap, facing towards him. Caspar’s face, so familiar and dear to him, was smiling apologetically. Linhardt cupped the side of his face in his hand, and Caspar nuzzled it affectionately, still smiling. So Linhardt kissed him, slow and sweet, molding Caspar’s lips to something more pleasing. When he broke it, Caspar’s expression was full of wonder, as if it had been the first time they kissed rather than the thousandth. 

Linhardt would have been happy for the moment to go on forever. But, time marched ever forward, and now that he was rested, Linhardt could hardly wait to get to a place with a soft, comfortable bed and a hot, cleansing bath. “We should get going,” he said, only a little regretfully.

“Oh, yeah...” said Caspar. “We’ve got the water?”

“I’m keeping an eye on yours this time,” said Linhardt.

“H-hey! I’m not about to make the same dumb mistake again, okay?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Well, that time was the last!”

Linhardt laughed, disentangling himself from Caspar so he could stand, and then lending Caspar a hand up. He staggered a little as he rose—he still hadn’t fully recovered from his ordeal, Linhardt realized, and undoubtedly he didn’t intend on letting it slow him down. Linhardt sighed internally. Saving Caspar from himself was practically a full time job. 

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY OKAY OKAY
> 
> So this is actually the very second thing I started writing for this pairing, and it became kind of an end goal for me? Also this is the reason I named every other fic (except the first one) after songs from Persona, as a dumb joke to myself.
> 
> I'm really happy to finally be posting this! I don't have more plans for this series currently, but it was a fun time, and thank you so much to everybody who tagged along <3
> 
> Please drop me a line telling me what you think! I love to hear from you :D


End file.
